How Darak Shadowblade was exiled from Morrowind

My name is Darak, son of Tarak, of the house of Tenkor, but people here in the Iliac Bay nicknamed me "The Shadow Blade", for my sword was rarely seen before it struck. In time, I came to like it and adopted it as my surname (something that most folks here use, instead of their ascendancy). My story is indeed one of sorrow and pain, and to recount it fills my heart with grief every time, but in this case I have to, in order to make everyone understand why I became what I am.

I was but a child when I entered an organisation of assassins in Morrowind, of which I would not mention the name. Differently from the Dark Brotherhood, it has no need of hiding, for revenge murders are most common a practice among Dark Elves, to settle matters and to restore a clan's lost honour. It is in fact a centenary tradition that the second-born sons ofthe noble houses should join this guild. But Avengers (this is how members are called) are much more than simple cut-throats: we are the elite killers, trained in magic, arms and stealthy movement, and we are proud to be scholars as well... But, alas, I'm speaking as if I were still one of them, though I'm not. I will not reveal here exactly what we studied, for I feel still bound to the oaths I swore. I will tell only that each one of us had to specialise in a weapon, a school of magic and a particular field of lore.

I had reached the age required to undertake the "passing rite" to achieve manhood and full membership among the Avengers as well... Nor I will speak about the mission I had to accomplish (maybe someday I'll decide to betray them in full). Know only that it led me to the very borders of Morrowind. There, before I could enter the cave I had been instructed to explore, I noticed someone laying down on the rocks below. He was likely to be a human, for he wore an imperial uniform (the majority of the imperial guards are human, in fact), and for this reason I shouldn't have messed with him at all. I don't know what feelings that short-ears stirred in me, but I could not bear to leave him to die without doing anything. I cautiously approached and noticed he was badly hurt and bruised all over his body, so I reckoned he had fallen from a great height. My guess was confirmed when I saw the brooch pinned on his breast: it was shaped like a roc's head: the man was a member of the Avian Cavalry! But where could his steed be? The rocs do not willingly abandon their riders.

But time was pressing, so I decided to bring him over the borders of Morrowind (they were no more than a couple of miles far away) and to leave him there. I loaded him on my shoulders and in less than an hour I reached the mountain pass that marked the line between the Imperial Provinces and the Dark Elves' homeland. I found a spot to put him down, then I looked around to gather some leaves and branches to start a fire: this way, I hoped someone would notice him, and I could be on my way as soon as possible. When I had reached the other side of the pass, I could clearly see a wisp of smoke rising: now it would be humans' turn, for I had done everything I could without putting myself in danger (or so I thought then).

I hurried to my quest and succeeded in completing it in less time than I (and my superiors as well) expected, so I boldly proceeded back to the guild. I had barely crossed the threshold when I felt the grip of strong hands over me: four of my fellow Avengers bound me tight and gagged me, then they took me to the council hall.

How could I be so foolish? I should have known that watchful eyes could stare at me all the time, spying every single step and action! I already knew my fate was doomed, so I began praying silently the gods for a quick death.

In the middle of the council hall, in front of the ritual altar, stood the guild Mistress. She turned around, her face hidden in the shadow of a black hood. The Avengers forced me on my knees as she began to speak: "Darak of the house of Tenkor, thou have been found guilty not only of messing with human-scum, but also of helping one of them, against the very rules of our order. Thou have shunned the ways of this guild, the pride of all Dark Elves' nations, and for this reason thy fate will be..." "C'mon! What are you waiting for?" I thought, for she was "delaying" the sentence, probably savouring my fear "Death will come sweet to me, if only it could be swift and without any other shame!"

Her melodic voice echoed once again in the hall: "Exile!" I could not believe my very ears! Exiled! Shunned from my home land for the rest of my life! Sleeping every night under a sky that was not my own, eating bread not made in Dark Elves' ovens, speaking an alien language, so different from my mothertongue, and all of this would go on...forever!

But these sad thoughts had drawn my attention away from the guild Mistress: before I could have the time to realise what was going on, she turned to the altar and picked up something, then she approached and for a brief, though never-ending instant I felt a unbearable pain in my head and I cried out loud. When my eyes opened I could feel a burden over my forehead. The woman spoke again:  "Darak, this circlet thou are now wearing, naught in the world, neither magic nor weapon, will remove it against my own will: it's the mark of thy shame. if thou are ever caught inside the borders of Morrowind again, every Dark Elf who sees it will know that thy head must be detached from thy body... at once!"

With these words, she departed. I was dragged away and blindfolded, then they loaded me on a cart. I couldn't tell how much time passed. The next thing I remember is that they literally threw me out of the wagon and one of them dismounted to cut the rope that tied my hands. Before I could remove the bandage from my eyes, they were gone...

I was alone, with nothing but the clothes I wore, but nearby I found a dagger they probably left for me (I had been sentenced to exile, not to death)... I had no longer a spellbook, though, and there was that accursed circlet! The light of the moon was shining over the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, making them look paler than they actually were. I stood still, listening. I could hear the gurgling of a stream very close. I hurried thither and saw the water glittering while it flowed rapidly downwards, but there was a pool in which it lay nearly still. I cautiously approached and I could see my reflection: around my temples I was wearing a chain of pure silver. From it a little skull of the same material hung right over my forehead. Scared, I tried to remove it with all my strength but, needless to say, all my efforts were vain. I sat on a rock and wept sour tears...

Thus began a period of my life I'd rather forget. At first I tried to get hired as a mercenary, but nobody wanted to deal with a Dark Elf, and obviously the communities of my people living in the Imperial Provinces would not help a renegade like me. I had no other way to earn a living than robbing poor folks, mugging them in the darkest alleys or pickpocketing them. At times I had also to beg, when I feared guards were too close...

One evening I was in the town of Belengost. I was confident no guard was on the watch so I tried to pickpocket an old man. Unfortunately, he spotted my hand in his pouch and start to yell "Guards!!!". I thought I had enough time to escape when, right behind me, two men-at-arms appeared. I began to run, but was very slow for I hadn't eaten since the day before. Then I saw a tavern with stables: if I could steal a horse, it would have been my ticket to freedom. I entered in a hurry and was about to mount a steed when I felt the edge of a sword on my neck.

"Turn around...slowly." I obeyed to the order. The officer's victory smile became an expression of surprise. For some seconds he could not say a word, then he muttered: "It can't be...You! You're the very Dark Elf who saved my life!" At these words I recognised him too. The human whose life cost my exile. He greeted me as if he had found a long lost friend, then invited me to dine with him. I would rather be on my way, lucky to save my skin, but my stomach did not share the same opinion. I gratefully accepted the invitation and we moved to the adjacent tavern. I noticed that he walked with a pronounced limp and, in fact, he explained me while we were eating that he had been lame since. He told me that his roc was found never again and that he had become a city guard for his handicap did not allow him to ride one of them any longer. But, most of all, he revealed me that he was one of the Emperor's nephews, and, for saving him his life, I could have anything I wanted. I explained my plight to him, and I asked him if I could meet his uncle. He was a bit amazed by my request, but I quickly assured him I just wanted to carry out errands for him, and the skills I had been trained in during my childhood would surely be helpful to him.

He agreed and arranged a meeting in but a couple of weeks. Evidently I came into Emperor's liking, for he gave more and more important tasks, at first to test my trustworthiness, then to deal with matters important for the Empire itself. One day I received a message from the Chancellor, the Emperor's right arm: I was asked to attend a private meeting, to be informed about a secret and urgent mission that required my sword, my magic and my discretion as well. Then... well, you all know what it happened then, don't you?